


Bellflowers, Petunias, and Lungwort

by jankmusic



Series: The Drabble Collection [22]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Engagement, F/M, Fluff, Gen, Language of Flowers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-20
Updated: 2013-10-20
Packaged: 2017-12-29 23:23:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,503
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1011305
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jankmusic/pseuds/jankmusic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John Watson was right; he knew exactly what Sherlock needed. Sequel to "Every Kiss Begins with...".</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bellflowers, Petunias, and Lungwort

**Author's Note:**

> Day 22 of the One-a-Day Challenge! I was doing so well at the beginning with updating regularly, but life has finally started to catch up with me and I've been busy! 
> 
> This one shot is the sequel to "Every Kiss Begins with...", which can be found here: http://archiveofourown.org/works/1005354.
> 
> The prompt was all that I have.
> 
> Disclaimer: I do not own Sherlock.

_‘I need your assistance for a case, please.—SH’_

 

Molly stared tiredly at her phone as she slowly dropped to her bed. She was exhausted and just returned to her flat from a double shift at St. Bart’s. All she wanted to do was sleep. She bit her bottom lip, but before she could text Sherlock back, he added, _‘I understand you are tired. This will only require two hours of your time and then you can return to your flat.—SH’_

 

Despite her exhaustion, she texted him, _‘Alright. Where and when?—Molly xx’_

 

His response was almost instantaneous. _‘Le Gavroche. Reservation is in one hour. Wear that coral dress you purchased on your last shopping trip with Mary. Flats will suffice since you’ve been on your feet all day. A car will pick you up in 45 minutes. Thank you.—SH’_

 

Molly leaned back on her bed and closed her eyes, breathing deeply. “At least it sounds like a stakeout, right Toby?” she said to her cat, who was curled up near her pillows. “Which means eating food and pretending I’m on a date with my boyfriend.” After five minutes of mentally preparing herself for the evening, Molly got up from her bed and went to her bathroom.

 

She showered at St. Bart’s at the end of her shift, but her hair was still wet. She untangled the cords to her hair dryer and straightener and plugged both into the wall. In thirty minutes, she managed to dry and straighten her hair. Than with practiced precision, she pulled her hair halfway back and teased a bump to the front of her head. With bobby pin and a hair tie, she finished her simple hairstyle, added hairspray to hold her hair in place, and then dashed to her bedroom. With less than fifteen minutes to finish getting ready, she threw open her closet door and pulled out the dress Sherlock suggested.

 

She was suddenly thankful that she shaved her legs and beneath her arms after her shift and Mary convinced her to purchase the coral sleeveless dress on the last shopping excursion. She carefully pulled the dress on and managed to zip it by herself. She added a pair of simple pointed toe nude flats and quickly searched for the clutch that matched the shoes.

 

After adding the essentials to the clutch, brushing her teeth, adding a touch of lip gloss and eye makeup, and slipping on her nicest coat (a black pea coat from Sherlock for her birthday), she managed to get outside a few seconds before a black car pulled up outside of her flat.

 

\-----

 

Molly felt like she was only in the car for a few minutes when her phone began buzzing. She pulled it out of her little clutch and her eyes widened in surprise. “Hello?”

 

“Something has come up and I have other leads to follow. Are you far from your flat?”

 

“Not really, I don’t think. We’ve hit quite a few lights.”

 

“You can tell the driver to take you home.”

 

Molly leaned towards the partition separating her from the driver and she knocked on it. “Umm…excuse me?” The black screen rolled down and a kind looking man turned to look at her. “I guess the plans are cancelled. Can you take me back to my flat, please?”

 

“That’s fine.”

 

“Sorry about that,” Molly said, smiling apologetically. The older man waved his hand is dismissal.

 

“Don’t worry about it dear. You’ll be back home soon!”

 

As the screen rolled back up, Molly returned her attention to her phone. “Is everything alright? You aren’t in danger, are you?”

 

“Not any more than usual.” He sounded bored. Molly couldn’t help but smile.

 

“Well, I’m not going to lie and say I was looking forward to a stakeout, even though I’m a bit peckish.” Molly chewed on her bottom lip before asking, “Will you come over? I haven’t seen you in three days.”

 

“Will you be up late?”

 

“Probably.” Molly imagined she could get a bit of laundry done and sort through the contents of her fridge. Her flat did need a little sprucing up, dusting and such.

 

“I’m sure I can make an appearance. Will you make coffee? I won’t be sleeping tonight because of this case.”

 

“Black, two sugars. It will be fresh when you arrive!” Molly said with a giggle, leaning back in her seat. “Be safe, alright? And I’ll see you in a bit.”

 

Molly leaned back in her seat and patiently waited for her return back to her flat. She mentally listed all of the small tasks she could accomplish before Sherlock’s arrival, and she had a pretty long list growing when she returned home. She thanked the man kindly for driving her, and then she stepped out of the car and made her way to her flat.

 

Nothing was out of the ordinary as she climbed her front steps, unlocked the front door, and made her way up to her flat. She was still deep in the recesses of her mind, compiling a list of her tasks when she realized something was not quite right after she closed her front door.

 

For one, her ceiling lights weren’t on, instead the small lamps that adorned her end tables on either side of her sofa were switched on. Two, she could see Sherlock standing at the window, looking ever mysterious in the soft lamplight. Three, he was clutching flowers in his hands.

 

Immediately, Molly’s mind flew to the case Sherlock and John had been working on two months beforehand, involving a murderer who left flowers at his crime scenes. Between Sherlock, John, Mary, and Molly, they completely researched the language of flowers. No doubt Sherlock had something very important to say with the flowers that were in his hands.

 

After standing in silence for several long seconds, Molly inched further into her flat. She knew Sherlock was aware of her presence. “Hello.”

 

Sherlock turned slowly, looking as ravishing and calm as he usually did. “Molly,” he said in greeting.

 

Molly shakily pointed to the flowers then the lamps. “What’s this, then?” Sherlock didn’t answer, just slowly started to close the distance between them. “It’s not my birthday, is it?” Molly blurted out, her eyes widening. She couldn’t remember the date, but she was certain that it wasn’t her birthday.

 

“No, it’s not your birthday.”

 

“Oh God! It’s our anniversary, isn’t it?” Molly’s stomach dropped out from beneath her. She always expected Sherlock to forget the important dates.

 

Sherlock’s lips quirked upwards for a moment before his expression smoothed over once again. “Not the anniversary you’re thinking of.”

 

Molly was too tired to think clearly. Her lips turned down in a frown and she tried to wrack her brain for the importance of the date. “I’m sorry, I don’t—”

 

Sherlock finally closed the distance between the two of them. Molly smiled apologetically at him, and he easily handed her the flowers before cradling her left hand in his own. Molly’s apologetic smile dropped slightly and she felt a little faint as Sherlock knelt down in front of her on one knee. “Eleven years ago today, I met you in the morgue. You were only twenty two years old, but brilliant as ever and working on your doctorate.”

 

“You remembered that?” Molly whispered, feeling tears in the corners of her eyes.

 

“Of course I remember. I have never deleted any information about you in my Mind Palace.” Sherlock smiled at her. “I’m still complete rubbish at expressing my sentiment in a good way. Typically everything I do is not good, but this is something you deserve, so I will try my best. And if I can’t properly say it, those flowers will.”

 

Sherlock’s brow furrowed for a moment as he hesitated. He looked at the hand clasped in his and then looked back up at Molly. “I’ve known all my life that if I were to ever emotionally invest myself into dating a woman, she better be the one I’m going to spend the rest of my life with because putting forth effort into a relationship is time consuming and practically stupid.”

 

“Not good!” John Watson coughed. Molly’s head snapped up and she looked towards her kitchen to see John and Mary Watson peering around the doorway, cameras in hand. Sherlock’s eyes briefly glanced at John, who was shaking his head wildly.

 

He plowed on, hoping to save himself. “You’re not stupid. At least—” Molly looked back at Sherlock and could see his pulse pounding in his neck. She gave his hands a gentle encouraging squeeze and smiled at him. Tears were already leaking from her eyes as she patiently waited for him. “I mean, the moment we started dating, I knew I wanted to spend the rest of my life with you?” It sounded like a question, and Sherlock winced.

 

“Better,” Molly croaked, her mouth widening in a smile. Relief flashed over Sherlock’s features. She could hear John laughing and Mary trying to quiet him.

 

“For eight long years, you were just my pathologist, then for two years you were—” He stopped mid-sentence and shook his head. “When I was taking down the network, the only thing keeping me alive was you. I kept telling myself, “I have you. I have you. All I have is you.” His voice cracked, and the room around them became deathly silent. Sherlock rarely talked about his time when he was dead, but everyone knew that it had been a very rough time in his life, and only Molly Hooper knew the true trials and tribulations of taking down Moriarty’s network. “It didn’t matter if I died because everyone already thought I was dead. But you…you believed in me when no one else could. You kept me alive. And I’ve come to realize that in this life, all I _need_ is you.”

 

She gasped for breath as Sherlock tightened his hand on hers. “You are my pathologist, Doctor Molly Rosalind Hooper, but I desperately want you to be my wife. Will you marry me?”

 

For several long seconds, Molly didn’t move, couldn’t speak. Tears poured out of her eyes and down her cheeks. Finally she gasped out, “I feel like I’m going to faint!” Once again John could be heard laughing, and Mary’s soft laugh joined his. Molly began sobbing, but she managed to nod her head in agreement.

 

She watched Sherlock procure a black velvet box, and she could feel her knees beginning to shake. When he opened it, she could barely see from the tears. She felt him slip the ring onto her finger, and then she was sinking down to the carpet so they were on the same level. She wrapped her arms around him tightly and kissed him amongst cheering and cat calls from John and Mary.

 

When they pulled away from the kiss, Sherlock pressed a kiss to her forehead. His hands were trembling as he began to gently wipe away her tears. “I did good?” he asked.

 

“Very good. The best.” She nodded her head for emphasis.

 

Sherlock moved from his kneeling position, standing to his feet. He helped Molly to hers and they turned to their friends who were now standing unabashedly in the doorway of the kitchen.

 

“We’ve recorded the whole thing and took tons of pictures!” John said energetically, waving around his digital camera. “You didn’t even muck it up as bad as I thought you would!”

 

“Thank you,” Sherlock said, rolling his eyes, but the broad smile was firmly in place, his laugh lines showing prominently.

 

Molly leaned against his side and glanced for the first time at the ring on her finger. She gasped and brought the hand closer to her face for inspection. “Oh God, Sherlock…” She looked at him, tears filling her eyes anew. “It’s beautiful. How did you…?”

 

“John helped. It’s pink sapphire.”

 

Molly spent a lot of her childhood imaging her wedding, her husband, and most importantly, the engagement ring. White gold bands and diamonds were always at the forefront, but this ring blew her former fantasies out of the water.

 

Because Sherlock (and Molly had an inkling that it was mostly John Watson) picked out a platinum engagement ring with a princess cut pink sapphire in the center and one princess cut diamond flanking either side of the pink gemstone. It was sparkly and bright, but simple and beautiful and Molly felt like her heart was going to pump out of her chest.

 

“I deduced that you didn’t want anything ostentatious. But I always miss something—”

 

“Not this time,” Molly said firmly, kissing him again. This time she was aware of cameras flashing and she pulled away from Sherlock quickly. Public displays of affection were not either of their areas.

 

“Now tell us what those flowers mean!” Mary cried, her camera trained on Sherlock.

 

Sherlock awkwardly shuffled his feet and looked at the floor before looking at the flowers still clutched in Molly’s right hand. “I recalled after the aptly named “The Language of Flowers Case”,” he rolled his eyes in John’s direction; he just laughed good naturedly, “that Molly was very taken with the notion of flowers telling a story.” He was looking directly at the camera now. “As you can see, there are three different types of flowers varying from pink to purple. The purple bellflower, which is in abundance, means, ‘gratitude’. The pink petunias mean, ‘your presence soothes me’. The similar looking purple and pink ones are lungwort, and those mean, ‘you are my life’. All of these flowers reflect how I feel about Molly.”

 

And with that, Molly tossed the flowers onto her sofa, wrapped her arms around Sherlock’s neck, and pulled him unceremoniously to her, kissing him passionately.

 

\-----

 

John and Mary didn’t spend much time in the flat after that, seeing as it was obvious that Molly wanted some alone time with Sherlock. As the husband and wife were donning their coats and scarves, Sherlock met them at the door. Molly was busy putting her flowers in a vase in the kitchen.

 

Sherlock hesitated at the door as Mary opened it and stepped out in the hall. She kissed Sherlock once on the cheek and told him the pictures and video would be ready at the end of the week. Then she took John’s hand and gave it a squeeze before she disappeared down the steps, claiming that she needed to hail a cab.

 

“I was really worried you were going to call her stupid. But you did well, mate.” John patted Sherlock on the shoulder and smiled at him.

 

“You were right. You knew what I needed,” Sherlock said, remembering the day he and John went shopping for the ring only two weeks previous.

 

“Of course I knew what you needed! It’s expected of me as your best man, which is a position I honor greatly!”

 

And with that, John Watson sent one last huge grin in Sherlock’s direction before disappearing down the steps after his wife.

**Author's Note:**

> Just to let you know, I did very brief research on the Language of Flowers. It's actually quite interesting, so if you have some free time, look into it! Other than that, thank you for reading; as always, I appreciate it very much! :)


End file.
